Nocturne in Shadow and Light
by ericajanebarry
Summary: An interlude following Rewrite This Tragedy; second installment of the modern retirement AU. Inspired by a dream. *Rated M.*
1. Till they get the best of the night

**A/N: This is an interlude separate from but in the same universe as Rewrite This Tragedy. One need not have read RTT to read this, but when I do post the epilogue to RTT, it will make mention of some points from this piece.**

 **Based upon a dream.**

 **~ejb~**

* * *

By the time she leaves the hospital, she has been on the clock for seventeen hours. With the junior doctors on strike they are absurdly short of staff and the strain is felt from the top down. Twice today she had to tell nurses to cancel their evening plans; they were staying on until eleven. Three times irate patients expecting to be discharged had called on her after being told by one of her underlings that they were farther down in the queue and would be seen to as soon as possible. There was no answer she could give that was any more satisfactory than the one they'd already heard, and whilst she sympathized with them she began to grow weary of hearing complaints.

She steps out into the night air, and on her way to the car park she realizes she's not in any shape to drive home. Driving at night has never been her favorite; since the accident that took Matthew's life she avoids it unless it's an absolute necessity. She hesitates for a moment … she won't call Richard. His day was even longer than hers, his shift having begun at eleven the previous night. He'd not broken away until nearly six that evening and when he'd found her at the nurses' station on her floor she had kissed him goodbye and ordered him straight to bed when he arrived home.

She calls a taxi; they'll sort out the car in the morning. She gives the driver the address and curls into the seat, closing her eyes. The next thing she knows the driver is jostling her arm.

"Hmm?" She shakes her head, trying to wake up, and mutters an apology to the driver, tipping him mightily. She fumbles with the key for several moments before she gets the front door open.

She stops off in the kitchen to drop her handbag in a chair and swallows two aspirin - if she hasn't got a headache yet then one will surely crop up before morning.

Upon entering the bedroom, a small smile crosses her lips when she makes out Richard's form in their bed. She moves quietly, foregoing the light. He needs to sleep for as long as his body will let him, and she can feel her way in the dark. She begins to undress, dropping her clothes in an untidy heap on the floor. Normally this would irk her to no end, but now it gets added to the queue: "things to sort in the morning." She is shattered enough that she nearly can't be bothered with undressing, but thoughts of cool, crisp cotton sheets against her skin and Richard's warm, solid body beside her spur her on.

 **oOoOo**

He knew the moment she walked into the room. She was quiet as a mouse as she moved about, but he thinks he must have heard the snick of the door as it closed behind her. It doesn't matter; she is here now. Her back is toward him and he sees her in silhouette thanks to the sliver of outdoor light that peeks through the curtains. He watches as she crosses her arms in front of her body, lifting the hem of her scrub top. He nearly laughs aloud as she drops it to the floor - _how unlike her!_ \- but he doesn't want to give himself away. She turns, taking a few more steps toward the bed, and reaches behind herself. Standing as she is in the thin silver light, she throws a lovely shadow on the adjacent wall and he isn't sure what is more mesmerizing: the shape of her breasts outlined in the dim light or the profile they cast on the wall. She bends at the waist as her pants join the trail of discarded clothing and he feels a dull ache beginning to build low in his belly. The dark shape of her perfectly rounded bottom has him longing to leap out of bed and press himself against her.

She is nude now, bare but for her panties as she walks toward the bed. He closes his eyes, unwilling that she should know just yet he's been watching, and finds himself holding his breath. He feels the mattress dip, the rush of cool air against his legs as she lifts the sheet. He hears the whisper of the fabric and the deep, contented sigh that leaves her lips as she lies down. He knows what her next move will be and counts silently in his head. As he reaches three she turns on her side with her back toward him and presses in close, as closely as she can. She sighs again, so sweetly, as her skin makes contact with his and at last he can stand it no longer.

His arms come round her from behind and he presses his palms against the flat plane of her abdomen. She gasps, first in shock and then in delight. He is warm, so warm, and equally undressed as she. _This_ is what she needs.

"Hello, beautiful girl," he rasps against her ear, nibbling the lobe. "You're home."

"Mmm," she answers as the tips of his fingers dance along her rib cage. "I'm home. Didn't mean to wake you."

She links her fingers through his as his hands settle on her hips, pulling her back against him. "You didn't, precious. I must have been waking up to turn over. Are you alright?"

She looks over her shoulder, cupping the side of his face, and kisses him. "Yes," she whispers near his lips, nodding. "Wrung out, as I'm sure you must be. You must go back to sleep, love."

When he smiles she can see the shape of it, but she feels it even more keenly. "Suppose I don't want to sleep?" comes his retort, and despite the darkness she registers the twinkle in his eye.

Turning slightly in his arms, she nips at his lower lip. "Just what is it you want then? Hmm?" She studies the contours of his face in the dark as she palms his cheek and traces the ridge of his brow with her fingertips.

"I think," he answers in a tone rife with mischief, "that I fancy a cuddle. You wouldn't want to join me, would you?"

She backs up enough that she can look into his eyes and look she does, incredulous. "I shouldn't think you could do it on your own!"

He hugs her to him, his arms wrapping her up tightly. "Didn't think to ask Psych for the loan of a straightjacket, so I'm rather at your mercy."

"Cheeky beggar," she chuckles. "I suppose you're sufficiently rested that a little of this won't hurt, hmm?" Curling into him, she grazes the tips of her fingers down his side, pressing tiny kisses along the line of his jaw until she reaches his mouth. "Oh, Richard," she sighs, "we're getting too old for this."

" _This?_ Darling, we aren't married two years yet!" he quips as one hand travels down to grasp her bottom.

Affecting a roll of her eyes, she slaps his shoulder playfully. "You are incorrigible, love. No, not _this_ … It's these hours we keep; the staffing issues." She pauses, catching his hand in hers and playing with his fingers. "Cases that hit a bit too close to home. Of course I can only speak for myself, but it's losing its lustre, I'm afraid."

He gathers her closer and she rests her head in the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, her lips grazing the pulse point in his throat.

"It's not just you," he tells her, and she feels the rumble of his words where her chest presses against his. "Time was I didn't bat an eye at working thirty-six hours at a go. Now it's a good job we've tomorrow off … I'm flat on my back after eighteen."

"Yeah," she says softly, carding her fingers through his hair. "We haven't got to sort it all just now, but I'm _tired,_ love."

He works his fingers into the knots in her neck and shoulders and she exhales in relief as he pulls the tension from her muscles. He has an idea.

"What say we spend the day up at Newton* tomorrow? It'll do you good to see the countryside. Perhaps a change of venue will help us sort what needs sorting."

Smiling, she kisses him. "Yes, let's do." Then her brow furrows. "Oh, but Richard! The car … I … I was in no condition to drive and so it's still at the hospital. I took a taxi home."

He smooths the pad of his thumb across her forehead. "No worries, darling; we'll pick it up on our way back into town. Now, is there anything else troubling you?"

"Nothing that won't look better in the morning light." She pauses, settling back into his arms. "You know, this was the thought that kept me going."

She blinks up at him and even in the darkness her eyes catch him up momentarily. He feigns ignorance. "How's that?"

Though she is wise to it, she plays along. "This. Being in your arms, in our bed … skin-to-skin."

"Anything else?" he asks, grinning.

She presses her lips to his. "Your hands on me," she murmurs when they break apart, "your kiss, your touch. I'm more myself when I'm with you like this than I am at any other time." In her fatigue she can't find all the words; in fact, she's hardly scratched the surface of all she feels.

He kisses her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. He knows. "Isobel … beauty …" He runs his fingers through her hair. "Come here."

She climbs over him and straddles his lap as he sits up against the headboard. Her breath catches. Even in the dim light his eyes are luminescent, the icy blue a startling contrast to the heat that radiates off his body in waves. Her thumbs smooth over the tiny creases around his eyes. She loves them because they make her think of all the times he must have smiled over the course of his lifetime in order to have earned them all. She wonders if perhaps she is responsible for putting a few of them there.

"I love to look at you," she whispers, a gentle smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

He grins, kissing the tip of her nose. "How can you see in this light?"

"I don't need to see to look at you, Major. I know you by heart."

He smiles and hugs her to him. "Right you are, my love."

* * *

 ***Newton - Richard and Isobel own a country house in Newton-on-Ouse in North Yorkshire. It will feature prominently in the epilogue to RTT.**


	2. Paint a picture with my hands

_She climbs over him and straddles his lap as he sits up against the headboard. Her breath catches. Even in the dim light his eyes are luminescent, the icy blue a startling contrast to the heat that radiates off his body in waves. Her thumbs smooth over the tiny creases around his eyes. She loves them because they make her think of all the times he must have smiled over the course of his lifetime in order to have earned them all. She wonders if perhaps she is responsible for putting a few of them there._

 _"I love to look at you," she whispers, a gentle smile curling at the corners of her mouth._

 _He grins, kissing the tip of her nose. "How can you see in this light?"_

 _"I don't need to see to look at you, Major. I know you by heart."_

 _He smiles and hugs her to him. "Right you are, my love."_

* * *

She turns her face toward him with her eyes closed and winds her arms round his neck. She is breathtaking, he thinks, with her face upturned, her lips quivering in anticipation of his kiss. Even in shadow he can see the contours of the only face ever to have captured his heart.

He kisses her temple, her forehead. He feathers his lips over her closed eyelids and pulls back to watch her. Tiny, breathy moans escape her mouth, the sweetest sounds he's ever heard. He can't hold out or make her wait any longer.

She feels his hot breath on her lips and the thread of her arousal is pulled tight like a bow string. By the time his lips brush hers she is ravenous, and she whimpers into his mouth, latching hungrily onto his lower lip. The tip of her tongue darts out to taste him and he answers, and as ever he thinks he could get drunk on the flavor of her, of mint toothpaste and her own dark, sweet essence.

She holds his face in her hands as the kiss intensifies, her thumbs caressing his strong jaw, and as his hands smooth over her shoulders he muses that she loves in the manner in which she wants to be loved; she touches with reverence and intent. His fingertips flit across her chest and she breaks contact with his lips as she inhales sharply, pure anticipation. Her dark eyes catch his and he sees her long lashes in silhouette as they flutter against her cheeks.

"Beauty," he declares. It is appellation and descriptor, and it rolls off his tongue with both familiarity and awe.

"Flatterer." This is a game between them now, an elemental step in their seductive dance. She smiles up at him and he reaches out to trace the shape of it. Her mouth forms a perfect 'o' as he palms her breasts and when her hips roll against him in answer he squirms beneath her, his shorts uncomfortably restrictive. Her teeth flash white in the low light as she laughs at him. She wiggles her hips, feeling him surge against her, and her womb flutters in response, so forcefully it makes her gasp.

In one sudden motion, he laces his fingers with hers and rolls them over, pinning her to the mattress as their joined hands come to rest one on either side of her head. She reels for an instant, caught by surprise, and then responds by arching against his gentle restraint to nip at his Adam's apple. Her eyes flash feral and now _he_ laughs, reading her message loud and clear.

 _Two can play at this game, Major Clarkson._

He follows her back down, meeting the ridge of her collarbone with the edges of his teeth. He marvels at how different she is tonight to the last time they made love. There is not a trace in the woman beneath him of the dark sorrow that haunted her before. He loves her - _loves her_ \- always and in all the ways she appears before him, but he sees her playful side tonight and glories in it. He has known no greater joy in his life than that which he feels when she smiles, when her laughter rings out, bubbling and musical and contagious.

Fragments of light chase the angles and planes of his face as a car passes by and she pauses, watching him. "Penny for them," she murmurs, pulling him down as her hands smooth over his shoulders.

He rests his weight on his elbows above her. "You're beautiful," he concludes. "Always. But when you're happy, you're divine."

"What a lovely thing to say." She draws his head down and kisses him swiftly. "I wasn't … happy, that is. Not before I arrived home. I needed you … I _need_ you … to put me right." She brightens her stormy admission with a silly, besotted smile as she works her fingertips over his chest, and the rasp of coarse hair makes her nerve endings sing with the need to touch more of him.

This time it is she who turns them over, wrapping her legs round his hips and pushing at his shoulders.

" _Oof,"_ he exhales sharply as he lands flat on his back.

Her hand flies to her mouth in horror. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me! Are you alright?"

His hands on her biceps draw her down close. "I'm _fine_ , love. You just surprised me, that's all. But please ... don't stop on my account." He kisses the tip of her nose.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he silences her with a press of his lips to hers.

"Isobel." His tone is insistent. "I said, _'don't stop.'_ " His voice breaks, finishing on a husky whisper. His fingers run up and down her spine and when she sighs pleasurably he moves his hands to her hips. "Is this what you want?" He caresses her bottom and her inner muscles squeeze involuntarily.

"Richard, I—"

"Like this?" He pulls her closer until she can feel the head of his shaft at her entrance.

" _Darling! —"_

"Because I want you like this," he rasps. "I want to look at you."

He sees the momentary widening of her eyes. It isn't shock so much as disbelief … two and a half years with this man and she still can't quite conceive of the reality that he speaks this way - _thinks these thoughts_ \- about her.

Before she has time for the thought to carry her away, his lips close around her nipple, his tongue swirling round the rapidly stiffening peak. She cries out sharply, arching toward him and demanding more without uttering a word. In silhouette before him and in shadow on the wall her lines are those of a dancer - immense strength under careful control.

Nothing gives him a greater thrill than watching her lose that control. His fingers work their way under the waistband of her panties and he releases her nipple with a 'pop.' He looks into her eyes and squeezes her bottom. "Off," he commands. Rising up on her knees she pauses, locking eyes with him as she tugs the garment off. He palms her bare bottom, smacking her lightly. "Better," he declares with a rakish smile.

Cheekily, she folds her arms across her chest. "Well?" she says pointedly. "Go on then. What's sauce for the goose …"

With a roll of his eyes, he affects vexation. _"So demanding!"_

Smirking, she gives his shoulder a light shove. "Heavens, I'm ever so sorry. Where _are_ my manners? Do let me help you, Major Clarkson."

He watches fragments of light dance along the contours of her body as she moves herself away from him. She bends at the waist and he hardens at the sight of her breasts just out of his reach. As she kneels over him, the pads of her fingers glide over his abdomen, moving down beneath the waistband of his shorts. He hisses; the muscles jump. Her nipples brush against his thighs as she drags the material down his legs and off. He growls; she laughs.

She pauses to look at him and her breath catches. Perhaps it is love that makes him the most beautiful man she has ever laid eyes upon, but no matter the reason it amounts to the fact that she cannot look away. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted. His hands repeatedly clench and release the bedclothes. His chest rises and falls as he breathes. He is hard for her _(for her!)_ , the evidence of his arousal so close it begs for her touch.

He wonders at the delay and is just about to protest when he feels her warm breath on his inner thigh, her hands pushing his legs apart. She moves between them, fingertips tracing with deliberation, and hears him suck in a breath as she cups him gently in her hand. Her tongue darts out to lick the tip of him and a strangled groan escapes his lips.

She takes his length into her mouth and smiles at the colorful utterance that slips from his. He is not the only one who thrills at watching his love lose control. She strokes him languidly with lips and tongue as her palm cradles him from beneath. His mouth falls open and he groans, his hands reflexively balling into fists, opening and closing. She feels the tension in his hips as he fights against thrusting into her mouth. Releasing him momentarily, she kisses the place where his thigh meets his hairline. He opens his eyes and she is struck by how dark they've become.

"S'alright," she whispers, ghosting her fingertips along his inner thighs. "Relax, Richard."

"But I wanted this to be about you, beauty," he protests, drawing a sharp breath when she takes him in hand again.

"You don't think I enjoy making you feel good? I want to do this for you, darling." She bends forward, pressing kisses to the ridges of muscle along his abdomen. Her tongue dips into his navel and he writhes. Looking up at him with a smile, she adds, "I want you to love it."

"Oh, that won't be a—" _Problem._ He doesn't get to finish before she draws him into her mouth again. She strokes firmly, swirling her tongue round the head of him. She smiles around him in triumph when she feels his fingers twist in her hair, holding her in place as he thrusts. She cannot see his face now, but she imagines it twisted in a beautiful grimace of pleasure/pain, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. His cries are melodious and she thrills at being the one responsible for breaking him down.

His thrusts become more forceful and she adjusts to take him deeper. A few minutes more and he relaxes his grasp, twirling strands of her hair between his fingers as he stills his hips. She realizes he's reached the edge and releases him gently with a kiss to his tip. Kissing her way back up his body, she straddles him again.

He wraps her up in his arms, bringing her forehead to rest against his. "Ohh, Isobel," he breathes, his voice quivering. He shakes his head, unable to say more, and she tips her own head back as she laughs.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she tells him with a flash of dark eyes, holding his gaze as she sinks down on him slowly.

She hisses as she seats him within her, flexing her hips to draw him deeper still. _"Oh!"_ she cries out, overcome.

Breathing heavily, he cradles her face in his hands. "Shh, my darling. I know," he soothes, taking her lips in a thorough kiss. He pushes his hips up as she grinds down on him. Now they are joined as closely as two people can be and they pause to savor it.

She opens her eyes after a moment, blinking at him as she smiles beautifully. Tears glisten in the corners of them and he smiles in answer, kissing them away. She draws up and away from him and then descends slowly, watching his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, and his hands fall to her hips, holding her firmly. She closes her own eyes once more and focuses on the friction and the pressure, the delightful sensation of his answering thrusts.

She tightens around him and he growls, thrusting up hard inside her. She screams as he caresses her deeply, so he does it again. She leans forward to sweeten the pressure and her body tightens again of its own accord. "Oh!" she gasps. "Need to … slow down a minute."

He grins. "Oh, no, you don't. You've got more than one in you."

She gapes at him. It isn't often he speaks so candidly, not even to her. " _Richard!_ I—"

"Well," he interrupts, his expression one of great amusement, "am I wrong?"

She doesn't answer, but her cheeks flush so hotly that she's certain he can see it even in the darkness.

"Darling, you're astounding," he tells her. "Take what you need. I want to watch." To emphasize his point, he kisses her breast, his mouth circling closer and closer to her nipple. When his lips close around the tight peak her back arches and she clenches hard.

"Yes," he murmurs, "let go, Isobel. I want to feel you." He returns his attentions to her breasts, suckling hard as she moves. She is a mystifying combination of soft warmth and sharp silhouettes, and in darkness she is all he sees*, magnificent as she rises over him.

Her eyes roll back at the sharp upward thrust of his hips and the knot tightens within her; the ache that cries out for relief. He catches her hand in his and brings it down through her soft curls to touch just above where they are joined.

She gasps sharply, but his eyes catch hers and hold and there is no hesitation as she nods, understanding his unspoken directive. The only thing she says is, "You're better at this than I am."

He laughs, bending his head to taste the hollows of her collarbones. "Ahh, but you're _beautiful_ to watch," he tells her.

She looks down coyly, squeezing him again as she begins to touch herself. Her strokes are light and purposeful and he is mesmerized by the sight. He rocks forward with deliberation, setting a rhythm to match her own.

"Talk to me," she whispers.

His hands flex on her hips as he holds her, helping her maintain the friction she needs. "So gentle, Bel. Is that what you like?"

"Mmmm," she answers, "s'good. Oh, Richard …" The hand with which she anchors herself to him curls over his shoulder, the edges of her nails biting into his skin. She falls silent, drawing inward as she focuses on the feeling of fullness, of having him just where she needs.

The flashes of light from passing cars illuminate her body in a manner he finds spellbinding as he moves beneath her. He surges inside her at the notion that he's stroking her from within as she strokes herself. He can feel the change inside her, the rush of wetness as she swells around him.

"Yes, beauty. You're _so_ close!"

"Ohh," she sighs in response, "I need … Richard, _please—_ "

He moves his hands to her face, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. "What, my darling? What do ye need?" His lips reach for hers, kissing her hungrily.

She moans into the kiss, the sound becoming a half-sigh, half-wail as they break apart. "I need your mouth!"

His mouth travels over her throat and into the valley between her breasts as his hands cup the soft flesh. The tip of his tongue touches her nipple and she arches toward him.

" _Oh!"_ she exclaims in a whisper. She bites her bottom lip as he draws the tight peak into his mouth. He alternates gentle suckling with hard pulls, all the while massaging her other breast, rolling and pinching the tip between his fingers. Her entire body stiffens as she sucks in a breath. If he is an archer, she is the bow, pulled tight and poised to soar the instant he releases her. Her shape; her silhouette; the shifting weight of her above him … she reaches the pinnacle of tension as his hands and mouth play her body.

He shifts his hips up, up, up as he feels her walls flutter. The head of him finds _that spot_ inside her once, twice. "Open your eyes, Isobel," he rasps, blowing cold air across the nipple his mouth has just released. He waits. Her eyes snap open, wild and dark. "Come for me."

With one more upward jolt of his hips he lets her fly. Her body shudders as she clenches him and he continues to rock himself up into her for as long as the contractions last. And _last_ they do, jarring her like surges of electric current that spark from her nipples and race toward the place where she aches so deep inside.

As the flare of her orgasm recedes it leaves a pleasant, low hum of warmth in its wake. When her eyes can focus once more she blinks at him and he smiles at the story written across her face. She looks dazed; sated and hungry at the same time. _She looks debauched,_ he thinks, barking a satisfied laugh. Her lips are swollen from his kisses, her nipples much the same, and a brilliant flush colors her cheeks and chest.

He rubs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip and she kisses it. "Are you alright?" he asks, smoothing the hair away from her face.

She nods and her smile grows. "So good, Richard! _So_ very good. Can I lie down for a moment? That was rather … intense."

"Of course, darling."

There is a mutual whimper as she breaks the connection between them. She catches his eyes as she lies back against the mattress and they laugh. Propping himself on an elbow, he moves his other hand to her belly.

"Mmmm." She sighs her approval. "Warm." She rolls toward him, threading her fingers through his hair. Her mouth meets his, her kiss deep and slow. He moans and it rumbles through his chest. That sound is one she treasures; one that makes her heart soar and her body tingle. He wants her, feels what she feels, has longed for her like she longs for him.

He feels her lips curve into a smile and gazes down at her, a question in his eyes.

"I love you," she answers with a shrug of her shoulders. It is as simple and as wondrously complex as that.

His smile mirrors her own. "I love you too." His hand smooths over her torso, coming to rest on the swell of her breast.

She sighs with pleasure. "Sometimes I think …" she begins, rolling onto her back, "... what a wonderful secret we share, you and I." She blinks almost shyly. "Perhaps I'm being silly."

He bows his head to kiss her where his palm has been resting. "You're not, you know." His eyes reveal his sincerity. "Come on … tell me."

"Come here," she tells him. He kneels on the bed as she opens her arms and legs to him. The invitation takes his breath away, makes him dizzy. He settles against her and she hooks her legs round his calves.

"Did you ever think this …" she makes a gesture with her hands to indicate the two of them; their bodies pressed close; the love that has brought them here, "... would come to pass for us?"

"Never," he answers, nudging her nose with his own. "I mean, a young man dreams, I suppose. But after a point I figured it wasn't for me. You proved me wrong, my dear."

She smooths her hands over his hips, his bottom, and giggles. "One point you were happy to concede to me, hmm?" Her hips roll up to press into him and he twitches against her.

"Quite," he rasps, grinding against her. His hot mouth finds the pulse that pounds in her throat and he sucks hard at the soft skin. She will bear his brand in the morning.

That realization makes her laugh with sheer joy, and he breaks away to watch her.

"God, you're beautiful," he declares raptly. He presses her closer. He cannot get enough, would crawl inside of her and become the blood in her veins if that were possible. He writhes against her, the groan he emits sounding feral to her ears. "I need you," he grunts.

Her fingertips dance across his forehead, his cheeks. "Shh, my darling," she soothes. Their eyes meet. "Take me."

As if to emphasize her desire for him she reaches up with her hips and her hand to guide him to her. His hands press the small of her back as he slides into her and she keens long and low. _Nothing_ feels as good as him inside of her.

"Stay a moment," she pleads. She is wonderfully swollen and sensitive. She can feel the beat of his pulse _in_ her, the head of him at her cervix. _Some things_ _ **do**_ _improve with age,_ she thinks. What she says to him is, "I can feel _all_ of you, love!"

He smiles at the look of rapture on her face. "It's alright, then?" He can't resist kissing her, nipping feverishly at her lips.

He always put her needs ahead of his own, even now. Her heart is so full it aches.

"Oh, yes! _Please,_ Richard!" She doesn't know for what she is begging; no, that's not it - she wants it **all.** _More … Deep … Hard … Fast. Don't stop, don't stop,_ _ **please!**_

He understands. _She is_ _ **his.**_ His to touch and his to love. He has his own moment of wonder as he feels her: _tight, hot, wet,_ surrounding him. And indeed, she is _all around him_ now. A lifetime he was alone and now she is here in his arms; his bed. She's the breath in his lungs and the beat of his heart and she loves him. _She. Loves. Him._

That is the thought that finally makes him lose control and he gives her all that she asks for, slamming into her over and over again. For an instant, he feels guilty as he recalls promising her _'more than one'_ tonight, but the worry dissipates in short order when he feels her contracting around him. Her orgasm is deep and strong and he moves with it; he can't stop.

"Come for me," she cries, and he thanks the Lord above for such a woman as he gives himself up to her.

"Isobel!" he gasps as he shudders his release, collapsing onto her. She welcomes the weight of him, his warm pulses inside her wringing one more wave of pleasure out of her as well.

Their hips roll together for a long time afterward, each one wanting to remain as close as can be to the other.

"I love you so much," he hears her whisper as he gathers his wits about him once more. Her gentle fingertips touch his face, his shoulders. Her lips meet his again and again. She holds him inside her as he rolls them over; he remains inside her still as they surrender to sleep.

 **oOoOo**

Her head lolls on his shoulder as he maneuvers the Rover over the road to Newton early the next morning. She loves this drive - the lush green countryside as it unfurls, but he loves the peaceful feeling of her warm body curled against him in sleep too much to wake her.

He pulls to a stop outside All Saints Church. Situated on a hill, it boasts a gentle, sloping overlook to the river below. This is the church where they were married. He had hoped to make it in time to watch the sunrise paint the stone façade in brilliant purples and oranges. The first rays have begun to peek over the horizon. He will wait just a few minutes more before waking her.

He wants to propose that they move here full-time. He remembers her words … _'We're getting too old for this,'_ and she's right. They have each devoted their entire lives to medicine. There is still a chance to make a place for themselves in the community out here; plenty of practices in York would welcome their expertise. But the days of living out of the physicians' lounge, existing on stale coffee and twenty-minute naps have reached their natural end.

He wants nothing more than to see her happy, and he has never seen her more so than she is here in this village, in the house left to her by her aunt. He will make mention of the fact that they'll see more of George out here, what with Mary working out of York much of the time. It isn't something that will happen overnight - there's a flat to sell, for one. The matter of suitable replacements being found to assume their positions at the hospital will take some time as well. But he can foresee waking up next to her in their bedroom that overlooks the garden and walking down to this church to watch the sunrise a year from today.

The church stands in stark relief against the horizon now, a dark silhouette under a cerulean sky. He pours two cups of coffee from the Thermos he has brought along. Brushing the hair out of her face with the back of his hand, he feathers kisses across her brow.

"Hmmm?" she murmurs sleepily, slowly coming awake. Richard's arm is around her; her head is resting on his shoulder and his moustache tickles her forehead. She is wonderfully warm, her limbs heavy with sleep. Her back and legs ache slightly, a reminder of last night. She smiles, turning her face into the crook of his neck and kissing him there as she remembers.

"Good morning," he rasps, his burr trilling musically over the 'r.'

"Ohh," she breathes. His accent never fails to thrill her.

"We're here," he tells her. More lovely words, and even in the haze of pre-caffeine morning she feels herself responding. If his lips and tongue wrap so magically around consonants, how much more brilliantly will they wrap around her own lips … her earlobe … her—

Before she can finish the thought, his mouth is on hers. Her yelp of surprise is fast supplanted by a moan of satisfaction. "Good morning," she finally answers as the kiss breaks.

He presses a cup of coffee into her hand.

"I have something to ask you," he begins.

* * *

 *** - a reference to "Sunday Morning" by Maroon 5, a song that was on heavy rotation during the writing of this chapter.**


End file.
